It's all very overwhelming.


It's like an acid trip.


There are a lot of colors. There are a lot of sounds.


There's a certain serenity in that trip state.


There's too much happening.


Focus on the colors. Focus on the sounds.


What about my rationale?


Let the waves roll over you.


This is too much.

Give in.

No. I have to keep going.

Focus on the vibration of your essence.

I can't handle this.
I have to shut down.
I have to preserve.

Go numb.
Prioritize Preservation.

i live cursed.

am i strange? why do i think differently than everyone around me?

it's like i'm captive; stuck in a prison of people who don't see me.
and as i ramble about existentialism
you think to yourself, 'what are they talking about'.
but it was never really a question.

it was a declaration:
an ostracism,
a confession to deceiving me,
a rouse to make me feel sane,
an internal whisper to yourself.

and i make futile attempts to remain sane even though i have forced myself to confront my arbitrary existence while you go out and give no second thought to the meaninglessness of your reality or the chaos you live in.

i live cursed.

however, make no mistake.
because,
although i
live
cursed, i
myself
am not
cursed.

for while i live cursed with the painful knowledge that i am alone,
forever destined to know and accept that my reality exists to no one else,

you do not want to confront your isolation.
you run:
to alcohol,
to toxic relationships,
to nicotine,
to others.

in hopes that maybe
maybe
please
maybe
that one of these times,
you'll be strong enough to face it.

maybe after the next hit
maybe after the next shot
maybe after the next argument
you'll see.

but there again, you falter.
you see, make no mistake of that. because if you didn't see, what would you be fleeing? no, you are well aware of your isolation.

but you fear isolation
you fear lack of affirmation
you need the opinions of others
you crave love
you grasp for some concept of a communal reality
and death terrorizes you through it all.

and so, while i know undoubtedly that i become a little less sane with each agonizing moment of existence,

my isolated state of being
will always
be less alone
than your cowardice.

An empty glass sitting on the table

An empty matchbox with a burnt out candle

The empty paper for that forgotten essay

The empty cabinet, the cutlery's astray

That empty fridge, nothing to eat

That empty wallet, nothing is free

Your empty heart, no love to spare

Your empty eyes, your cold, dead stare

Broken life, your modus vivendi

Living is lonely, living is empty

I have never been loved
Or maybe i have, i just need to be reminded
Maybe the bad overpowered the good and now my heart has been numbed.
Leaving love to be something i once upon a time desired.

when i look up at night
begging the stars to take me to them,
you tell me not yet,
hang on a little longer

but what to?
the ice is starting to crack,
the bitingly cold water below me
makes the blood in my veins stop coursing

soon i will be submerged.
any remaining heat left in me
will be stolen from my body,
the way dusk steals the daylight from the sky

you tell me to hang on,
but what if there’s nothing to hang on to?

I don't want to reopen my old wounds
But it’s just the only thing I have left to do
There's nothing more to be said about me
Except for a condolence or a passing apology

Picking at the ***** scars, hoping for an infection
Hoping the festering bacteria would spread through
Hoping for sensation, or something maybe close
Hoping that these old wounds would feel brand new

I’m already too numb to ask for more medication
Already too debilitated to beg for a final miracle cure
I’m already too sick, far too late to try on and on
Already at the brink of extinction to still feel unsure

I’m opening old wounds, bleeding them out to dry
Doing everything they all told me not to do, only left out to die
There’s nothing more to be done, no band-aid left to rip
These old wounds seem useless when there’s nothing left in me to fix.

Bare handed I crawl my way up
Towards the sun if I must
"Unburden my mind, mother. Stomp on my ego, make it null, but make me whole.

Empty stares and glazed eyes,
dragging my feet walking to the tub.
Stripping down to my bare self,
helplessness washes over me.
I don't want to see what I've done to me,
the scars, fresh marks,
the guilt, shame, pain,
these wash over as I dip into
my memories.